The Importance of Being Irrational


Explode into that momentary fleeting impulse. Melt into it unapologetically.

Too often I hold back on those urges for fear of being irrational.

Nevertheless, the flashing carousel of emotions and rages makes perfect sense to me. Not in a coherent strung together manner that can be passaged into prose. Or even poetry. They just make sense. They make sense in a far more elemental manner.

Pangs of fear remind me of lonely afternoons and uncleared leftover food from previous meals. Sometimes the irrationality is a whiff of boyish wonderment at the darting bird or the rhythmic toppling of beetroot slices as the knife slices through the flesh.

They remind me time and again of the now. Of existence. Not so much in a naval gazing, lotus eating manner as much as a fluid shroud of reality that sits on seething and soothing stimuli. Sometimes I let slip those delightful and intensely personal imagined realities out of my being to make more space within me. Their provenance is in itself a story that could be retold till death embraces either of us.

I hope they live on. They are innocent beings undeserving of ends.

At times, permanence means different things. Languages become despised because they solidify in a certain manner what should not and need not be fossilized. Poetry seems petty. Prose verbose.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to shrink into the center of a dot and exist in the mu.

How will I hide the emotion that I might experience watching the last tree fall on earth in the middle of a social conversation? I will be asked to explain, to analyze, to opine on, to hear and listen to human crudity on something that I consciously will never grip. I let it slide with a pause in the conversation.

I hear pauses in conversations. I hear conversations in the pauses of conversations.

Rationality eludes me leaving me profoundly touched in every possible way. I wish the world wouldn’t operate on channeling and recreating these states of beings. Sometimes I just wish the world wouldn’t. That sentences are never completed.

I just want to be.

Afterall the world does it easily.

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